Heart Of Gold
by MX5
Summary: Joseph Boxhall, still reeling from the Titanic disaster, meets a young woman who goes by the name of Violet. When he discoveres her secrets and the peril she is in, he risks his life to save her. Finished!
1. Chapter 1

1. Carpathia

Joseph Boxhall sat down on a deck chair as he watched the survivors of the Titanic sinking mill about aimlessly. Some were very distressed upon learning that their relatives and friends hadn't survived and Boxhall couldn't blame them in the least. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and winced, wishing that the disaster hadn't happened, thinking that he could have been in his bed on board the ship right now, sleeping off the cold he knew was slowly overtaking him. The young officer knew he should have been inside a common room where it was nice and warm, but the eyes of the survivors seemed to pierce at his very soul. With so many people came a sense of claustrophobia to him and the inevitable questions would crop up.

"What happened, sir?"

"Have you seen...?"

"Why didn't you do more to stop it?!"

Boxhall lowered his face into his hands for a long moment to compose himself. The junior officer raised his head and stared out over the sea, watching the sunrise like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

"Morning, Joe," Pitman greeted him, sitting down beside his friend on an adjoining deck chair. "how are you holding up?"

"No worse for wear," pulling at a loose thread in the cuff of his left sleeve, he gave Pitman a weary look. "I wish that this hadn't happened."

Pitman kindly pressed a mug of tea into his friend's hand. Boxhall turned it so he could see the Cunard logo clearly and breathed a heavy sigh that ended with a slight cough. "Drink up now, it'll make you feel better." Pitman encouraged him. Boxhall gave a faint half smile and took a sip, happy to have a gentle warming sensation spread through him and the scratchy feeling in his throat disappeared. Chamomile and lemon washed his tonsils thoroughly, causing him to look gratefully at Pitman. He'd known what was his friend's favorite tea flavor was and it seemed like a miracle to him that he should conjure up the brew while on a rescue ship.

"It's Captain Rostron's favorite as well," Pitman told him kindly, answering the unspoken questions in his friend's eyes. "it would do your throat some good as well. I heard you coughing."

"Very observant of you," Boxhall said wryly as he continued to drink. "what is the latest news?"

"Well, Captain Rostron is going to leave this place at about 8 and he wants to hold a prayer or memorial service to the fallen before we do leave." Pitman pulled out his black leather gloves and put them on as a gust of cold air greeted him in the face.

"He's a nice man."

"Indeed he is, Joe. I've heard about him."

"What have you heard?" Boxhall held back a wince as another pain throbbed dully in his chest.

"I don't know all the details, but Rostron punched out someone once. He doesn't drink, smoke, or swear. He's a very pious man."

"If he's that pious, does he have children at all?" a sly smile formed for a moment on Boxhall's mouth as Pitman winked.

"He does. Anyway, Lightoller and I have to go and inspect the lifeboats. Try to go inside and get some sleep."

Boxhall said nothing as Pitman left, taking some comfort in the tea he was drinking, thinking about the situation they had come from.

He had been walking back to the bridge when he felt a scraping on one side of the _Titanic_. He looked out and saw a black mass of ice go by. Knowing that the ship was wounded and maybe fatally, Boxhall walked back to the deck as much as his pride and dignity would allow him. Murdoch had been standing at the starboard bridge wing, glancing after the ice, then he'd run in like his tail was on fire and shut the watertight doors. Moody had exchanged a look with Boxhall and both went into the chart room after Murdoch had told them to note the iceberg in the ship's log. About 5 minutes later, Captain Smith had asked him to calculate their position and he did so, not understanding the situation then. Like many others, he thought the lifeboat loading and lowering was a routine drill so the ship's crew could mend the hole and bring everyone back on board. It wasn't until he was away in one of the boats when it dawned on him how serious it all was. The ship had gone down by the head until the stern stuck up into the air, then the lights went out. Boxhall didn't know what had happened then, as he commanded the lifeboat to row away from the suction of the ship.

There was no use dwelling on it now. Several of the survivors were going to the memorial service which was presided over by the ship's chaplain and the captain. Boxhall got up and went into the ship, finding the quarters one of the _Carpathia'_s officers had generously given to him. Taking off his hat, shoes, and his jacket, he didn't even bother to pull back the covers of the bed. Boxhall sank down into the comfortable bed and put his head down on the pillow, yet he was afraid to close his eyes, fearing nightmares of the ship sinking.

It wasn't long before exhaustion carried him off.

At the same time, a lone figure was standing at the stern of the ship, looking back over the wreck site. A young woman with dark blonde hair and hazel eyes gripped the taffrail, ignoring the flapping of the Cunard flag next to her. She had an oval shaped face and her facial features were suggestive of Greek descendence. Full dark pink lips, high cheekbones, and a low forehead with curling dark blonde hair framed her face eloquently.

The lady's dark green dress skirt flapped out in the small breeze as she stood there, a borrowed black shawl was covering her head and shoulders. Her hair flowed loosely from her shoulders as she stared aimlessly into the horizon.

"Miss?" Captain Rostron came up to her from behind, startling her. "Would you like to come inside now? We're starting off to New York."

"No thank you, sir," her voice was smooth and she spoke with a dark melodious tone of voice that implied she had seen worse troubles than a ship sinking. "I prefer to be outside."

Rostron decided to put on his paternal air to see if she would respond to it. "I am worried about your health, madam. You stay out here too long, you will fall ill." he brushed aside a loose curl from the side of her face so he could see her eyes more clearly.

"All right then, Captain." she took his arm and they walked away from the stern.

"What is your name?"

"You can call me Violet, sir." they walked into a common room as the ship engaged, taking the passengers and survivors to New York City.


	2. Chapter 2

2. To New York

Boxhall woke up around 6 that night and was very hungry. He called for a steward who brought him supper, and after he ate, he got back into his uniform and went back up on deck to see how things were. To his surprise, he hadn't dreamt of the ship going down and he was pleased to see that everyone was relatively quiet. The shock of the whole disaster had left them feeling emotionally numb and very much exhausted. Boxhall knew it meant that the survivors wouldn't cause much trouble for the officers and he took some comfort in that. The ship's chaplain and some other kind souls had begun to offer their versions of grief counseling, consisting mainly of a kind ear to listen and to provide emotional support where they could. Boxhall saw Molly Brown and the Countess of Rothes offering comfort, and even Lowe was helping out.

Lowe was a bit of an enigma to him. He was the one who didn't know any of the other officers before the ill-fated voyage, didn't seem very friendly, but Boxhall had heard him laughing on more than one occasion. He had been on watches with Pitman so it seemed Pitman would know him the best, if at all. The fourth officer crisscrossed the decks, checking on everything and fielding off questions. He did not have a name list, he did not know what happened to anybody, and so on. Boxhall did know what happened to Murdoch; the first officer had been untangling ropes off one of the collapsibles when the ship lurched violently, causing him to hit his head and drown. A similar fate had befallen Moody, though Boxhall had seen him swimming away with a bloody head wound. He guessed the pain had gotten so bad it had forced Moody to faint and then drown. Wilde he knew very little about the chief officer's last moments. It seemed that he had been standing by the bridge casually, smoking. Boxhall theorized that he had been struck with something and killed.

"Oh, that man!" a flustered looking woman emerged from belowdecks, hitching up her skirts and ascending the stairs. "I swear in all my life, I have never seen one so infuriating!"

"Anything I can help you with, ma'am?" Boxhall turned to face her. She had dark brown hair and brown eyes, one of her arms was in a cast.

"No, I was trying to get a comprehensible answer out of Mr. Ismay!" she spluttered. "In times like these, we all need to keep our wits about us! He has gone in the other direction!"

Boxhall bit back a smile. Ismay had been sequestered in a cabin and from what he'd heard, the chairman of the White Star Line was in a deep, almost catatonic state of shock, and his mind had temporarily left him. The doctor and Lightoller had been in to see him at intervals and they were both attempting to help him put his mind back together. Boxhall saw Lightoller come up beside him, looking grim-faced. Doubtless he hated running interference for the chairman, but he didn't want to lose his job.

"Have you seen Mr. Lowe?" the lady asked suddenly.

"Yes, he's down that way, Mrs.?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Rene Harris."

"Joseph Boxhall." they shook hands as Lightoller pulled out a notepad and pen. Mrs. Harris left to find Lowe and Boxhall turned to his superior officer. "Anything you need, sir?"

"Not yet," the second officer told him. "Mr. Ismay is in shock and his mind has gone to pieces. I think we'd better get used to acting without him. It's pointless to try to get an answer out of a piece of rock." he made a face and walked away, calling for names.

Boxhall offered what comfort and support that he could and then saw a lady in a dark green dress standing at the railing, gazing out into the cold sunshine. Standing up, he went over to her and studied her from behind for a moment, mystified. Joining her at the rail, he sneaked a sideways glance and took in her features with an appreciative eye. One hazel eye locked onto his blue one and she turned her head to face him.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to stare." he blushed.

The woman acted like it was no big deal. "It's fine, truly."

"Joseph Boxhall."

"You can call me Violet." he kissed the back of her hand and she gave him a half smile.

"What brings you out here?"

"Nothing much. I wanted to escape my troubles and it seemed like a ship voyage would be the best way to go."

"Didn't work out very well, did it," he remarked. "still, you're here and you have your health. Unless you lost someone."

"No. I travel alone," Violet answered frankly. "I got involved in a bit of a mess in London and I need to escape until the situation cools down."

"I'm sorry," Boxhall said in a low voice. "is there anything you can tell me?"

"Um, I got involved with a man that I shouldn't have. He was trying to run for a local political office, I don't know which, and the end result was my place of business got shut down." Violet put a hand on her black belt she'd added that day and adjusted it a bit.

"All right?"

"Yes. Sometimes the belt stretches and it is uncomfortable." she admitted. "So Mr. Boxhall, tell me about yourself."

"Well, I was born in Hull and my father was a mariner as well..."

They chatted for a long time, neither realized how long until they saw the sun setting. Most of the survivors had gone inside and were asleep, and Captain Rostron was making his rounds with his second officer, James Bisset. Rostron nodded to Boxhall and Violet but did not take the time to stop and talk with them.

During the rest of the voyage to New York, if Boxhall was walking around the ship and he found Violet, they would stop and chat, gradually getting more friendly as the days went by. Lowe found Cosmo and Lady Duff Gordon attempting to take pictures of the crewmen in lifebelts, which caused a commotion across the survivors of the disaster. The Welsh officer swiped the camera from Cosmo's hands, confiscating it until they reached New York. He gave the 2 a severe tongue-lashing, telling them to wise up or he'd personally put them under arrest.

Violet had been nearby and had been smirking throughout the entire scolding. Lowe had quite a temper on him and he was never one to mince words when he was angry. She sought him out afterwards and told him that he'd given them their just desserts. Lowe had been in a disgruntled state of mind and gruffly thanked her, trying not to say anything nasty to her either. Violet noticed that and stepped away before he chastised her for something.

It was raining the day they pulled up into the pier. Violet had an umbrella in one hand and she was staring at the crowd gathered on the dock. Flashbulbs lit up and popped pictures of them, making her shrink back away from the railing.

"Nervous?" Boxhall turned up next to her, a black oilskin rain jacket on.

"I didn't know it would be like this," she mumbled. "I don't like crowds."

"Come now. I'll take you to wherever you need to go," he offered her a friendly arm. Violet hesitated, but he inspired confidence.

"Come on, it's not gonna bite, you know." Boxhall teased in a friendly manner. With a small smile, she took his arm. "That's better. Where are you off to?"

"Brooklyn," she replied. "I'm going to stay with some friends of mine for a few weeks, then I must go back to England."

As they approached the gangplank, more flashbulbs went off. Violet shrank away but Boxhall held his head up and guided her through the throng of media like an expert. They escaped in a hotel hack and went to the Waldorf-Astoria hotel.


	3. Chapter 3

3. Hearings

"Well, Violet, I guess this is goodbye," Boxhall helped her out of the hack and they stood in the lobby of the hotel, happy to get out of the rain. The lobby was buzzing with the other officers and crewmen that needed to testify in the hearings. Violet brushed her hair out of her eyes and stared up at Boxhall with a slight smile on her face. She nearly tripped over someone's luggage, but Boxhall caught her arm before she could fall and hauled her back up. The officer had been blinded for a moment by the dazzling bright lights and the splendor of the hotel. Polished maple was everywhere and an elaborate looking gold and white brocade wallpaper had been plastered over the walls. Marble columns added a decorative touch, and paintings with gilded frames hung on the walls everywhere. People buzzed by, mostly first class and looking like people from moving picture shows or models of new clothing. It made Violet look shabby with her common second class clothes and black hat, but she forced herself to stop making comparisons.

Violet wore a plum colored dress with black lace at the sleeves and collar. She had a black hat that was tilted a bit, sitting on top of her braided bun at the back of her head. Boxhall was in his officer's uniform, it being the only clothing he had on him at the moment.

"Will you write to me?" she handed him a sheet of paper with an address on it. "This is my address in Southampton."

"Only if you write me back," he gave her his address. "might be a long waiting time for me to write back, as I'm always on board a ship."

"Too true. Joseph, thanks for everything and stay in touch." she quickly pecked him on the cheek and left, getting into a cab and heading for the train station.

Boxhall felt let down after Violet left, but he went up and registered with the hotel. He and Lightoller would be sharing a room, Pitman and Lowe would be sharing one as well. The officers received their room keys and went upstairs, eager to clean up and turn in for the night.

The next day, Boxhall bought himself a suit to wear to the hearings, along with some everyday clothes as well. He had felt ill on board the ship and after he had testified, he went back up to the room and realized his pain was much worse. He hacked and coughed, producing a bit of blood on one hand.

He stared at it for a moment, wide-eyed, then got into his overcoat and went to the nearby Manhattan General Hospital. The wait was short in the emergency care unit, and a doctor checked him over thoroughly for any problems.

"Did you get checked like the other survivors?"

"No, sir," he admitted. "I was busy helping my senior officer out to care much about my own welfare."

The doctor tsked and told him he had pleurisy. "It will go away on its own. I want you to get as much rest as possible and I will look in on you every day." he promised. Boxhall was pale looking and he seemed more fragile than usual. He left the doctor with the address of where he was staying and went back to the hotel, eager to get some sleep. The doctor had excused him from the hearings until further notice, so he need not worry on that front. Collapsing into bed that night was the best thing he had done in a long time, it seemed.

"Joe," Lightoller's voice called. "time to get up."

Boxhall sat up slowly, blinking his eyes to clear the sleep from them. "What time is it?"

"Almost 9. You know the hearings start in half an hour," Lightoller admonished him. "being lazy today?"

"No," he coughed harshly, emitting a gooselike honk that made the second officer wince. "I'm excused from the hearings because of this."

"Did you see a doctor?"

"How else do you think I got excused? Come on, Charles!" he rolled his eyes and flopped back into bed. "Tell Smith he made me sick."

Lightoller laughed and flung a pillow at him as he stood up. "Keep on like that and I might just start faking it to get away from him." both of them didn't like Senator Smith at all and all of the officers found Smith funny with his lack of nautical knowledge. The second officer left the room, keeping the door closed as Boxhall faded into sleep again.

The week rolled past with Boxhall in bed much of the time, spiking a fever that had his fellow officers concerned over his well being. The doctor came in several times and after copious doses of medicine, the fever went away and he was permitted to get up and move around. It took a few more days of being ambulatory and gradually building up his stamina again, then he was allowed to go down and testify with his colleagues. Because of his illness, Smith went easy on him for questioning. Lowe was questioned nonstop in many roundabout ways about his supposed drinking on the ship, to which he hotly denied. Nobody knew it then, but his father had a love for the bottle that disgusted Lowe in his childhood and he had made sure he'd never fall to alcoholism. Lightoller was asked several questions on the whereabouts of the dead officers, Pitman had been interrogated to the point of tears about the wails and cries of the dying people in the water. Boxhall told of his meeting with Rostron and Bisset, and that was it.

Too soon they had to go to Washington DC and repeat the process all over again. Lightoller was greatly annoyed, got them removed from a second rate slummy hotel and into a nicer one while Boxhall stood on the sidelines and watched. They had to testify all over again and once that was done, they were taken back to New York where a ship was waiting for them to take them back home.

The _Majestic_ sat in the pier, waiting for them all to board. The officers did so without a moment's hesitation, though some of the survivors were very hesitant to set foot on any ship now. Post traumatic stress disorder had set in and a few of the passengers had to be talked into boarding gently by the stewardesses.

Boxhall sat on a deck chair and saw someone looking familiar to him. He got up and went over to the lady, saying, "Violet?" she turned and it was her.

"Joseph!" she hugged him. "I'm glad to see you again."

"You as well, my dear," he welcomed the hug. "how was your visit?"

"Not bad. I had some counseling after the accident and I think I'll be OK." Boxhall noted that she looked paler than the last time he had seen her. Violet looked drawn and tired and he wondered what she had been up to. "Joe? You look a bit sick. What's going on?"

"I was ill during the New York hearings," he drew her over to the small cafe on board and they sat down near the windows. "I'm all right now."

"Good. I'm glad," they ordered lunch. "well, things seem to be going all right so far."

Boxhall put down his knife. "Was that a joke?" he teased, gratified to hear her laugh. "This is quite a shock."

"Oh, stuff it!" Violet admonished, taking a sip from her glass. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Back to work like usual. I know that British hearings will be coming up and after that, I need to get back to work." he answered.

They finished up lunch and Violet announced she was going to lie down for awhile.

"You look ill yourself. What is going on?" Violet looked like she wanted to tell him but she held off, not knowing if she could really trust him or not.

"Can I tell you later?"

"Of course." Boxhall saw her to her door and then he went back out on deck, putting his hands on the railing and looking out over the ocean. A few minutes later, Pitman came out of the library and went over to his friend.

"I saw you with your new friend," he said carelessly. "she's quite a looker."

"Indeed she is."

"What's her name?"

"Violet."

"Last name?"

"She didn't say."

"Well Joe, I should be the one to tell you this," Pitman clasped a hand on Boxhall's shoulder. "Violet is not her real name."


	4. Chapter 4

4. Secrets

"What?"

"Her real name, Joe, is Pamela Brackett."

"Why would she hide something like that?"

"You know this year is an election year, right? The cabinet members all have to pimp themselves to us and kiss ass?"

"Yes, I know."

"Well, Miss Pammie Brackett owns a burlesque house inbetween London and Southampton. It seems that in about mid-February, one of the cabinet elect hopefuls went into the burlesque house for some entertainment," Pitman winked and Boxhall wished he hadn't. "It was closing time and he demanded... you know. All the dancers were gone by then and Pam had no choice but to oblige him."

"It was just dancing, right?"

"No. The popular rumor is that Pam went shall we say full force? Anyway, word leaked out and Pam refused to shut her place down. She wasn't going to be held hostage for some politician's escapade. He did it in his own mind and she would not be responsible for it."

"Smart girl."

"Yes, but the press acted like vultures, taking everything they knew about her and making it very public. The politician's wife is out for her blood. The politician has made Pam the face of his campaign, using her to highlight the problem of burlesque houses near the cities and corrupting politicians."

"That lying git!" Boxhall clenched his fists in rage.

"Calm down," Pitman shushed his friend. "anyway, Pam might not be as innocent as you think."

"What do you mean?"

"She's been seen lurking around the politician's house after hours when his wife's out of town. Everyone thinks she's shall we say, servicing him." Pitman lit his pipe and watched as Boxhall turned red in the face.

"There's nothing you can do about it." Pitman puffed quietly. "Don't go getting involved. I know you like her but still. The White Star Line would not want your good name dragged into it as well. You know they'd fire you."

"True. I'll see you at supper, mate." Boxhall went into the library, needing some alone time so he could get his throughts organized.

Two hours passed and Boxhall, while calm now, still wanted answers from Violet-now Pamela, to get her side of the story. He'd gotten fond of her since they met on the Carpathia and she seemed to reciprocate his feelings. The least he could do to keep her friendship was to get her side of the story so he could make up his own mind about whether to keep her as a friend or not. He straightened up and checked himself out in the mirror, then went to go see her in her stateroom.

Pamela was emerging from her bathroom, her hair soaked and tied back in a simple ponytail. Wearing a tan colored dress with white lace trimming, she undid the ponytail and brushed out her long hair, weaving it into a braid. She started a little at the knock on the door, but bade entry anyway.

Boxhall came in and looked at her for a moment as she finished with her hair and tied on her black belt she was so fond of. "It's still an hour before supper, Joseph." Pamela stood up and went over to him.

"You can stop pretending now, Pamela," he hissed angrily. She stepped back like he'd struck her. "why would you hide that from me?"

She sank down on the couch, one hand on her belt buckle. "Because, Joe, would you really like me after you knew I had done some things I'm not proud of?"

"What? I came here to get your side of the story." he sat down in the armchair beside her.

"I'll give you that much," Pamela nodded her agreement. "I was a bit of a spoiled brat in a house full of girls. I had 5 sisters. When I moved out, I was penniless and I discovered that burlesque dancing gave me an outlet for my creative and sensual sides. I love doing it and I love the fact that I get paid for doing it. Then I set up a burlesque house where there are a lot of sailors and single men who just want shall we say, some action but not long term?" Boxhall was a bit red faced as she talked. "my girls and I did it, we were paid well, and my business is still thriving. Anyway, we were doing well until February when he came in."

"The politician?"

"Yes. His name is Anthony Baron. I admit he came in after hours and paid me well for my dancing, then he wanted to take it further than that. I hesitated, but he gave me about 300 pounds for me to have sex with him."

"You accepted it." Boxhall crossed his arms.

Pamela glared at him. "You'll see money differently if you ever own a business, Joe. That money went towards some renovation work that badly needed to be done. With that came more customers. I was happy, so were my girls."

"Then what?"

Looking uncertain, Pamela joined her hands together so that both of them met on the belt buckle. "I was so sure that I was on my monthly but I wasn't."

"Do you mean that you're-"

"Yes."

"My God," Boxhall looked to where her hands were and understood immediately. "what will you do?"

"My friend in Brooklyn set me up with a back alley abortionist but I couldn't go through with it."

"I wouldn't have if I were you."

"Well, I didn't."

"Does Baron know?"

"That I'm carrying his child? No." Pamela looked down at her lap for a long moment. "He's got 2 kids with his wife and I know his wife has people out there looking for me."

"What would she do if she caught you and found out about the baby?"

Pamela snorted. "Beat me to within an inch of my life and have someone abort it. That woman's got her priorities messed up."

Boxhall grinned suddenly. "It sounds like you need someone in your corner, so to speak."

"What are you thinking?"

"If she's got people looking for you, then you can stay with me. I will be taking a leave of absence and do desk work so I can be nearby and protect you if you need it."

"Would you let me?"

"Of course! I heard though, that you were making visits over to Baron's house when his wife wasn't in."

"Oh, that. I don't know why he wants me there every time his wife leaves, which is pretty often, but he does want to have sex with me more. I have to turn him down every time."

"Why do you go there then?"

"His house is en route to the marketplace and he flags me down." she stood up. Boxhall glanced at her figure and noticed nothing was poking out yet. Pamela caught him staring and said, "I've wanted to be a mother for a long time now, Joseph. Come hell or high water, I will have this baby and raise it well."

"I like your attitude," Boxhall smiled and stood up himself. "see you to dinner then?"

"It's still a bit early, but yes." she accepted and they walked to the dining room.


	5. Chapter 5

5. Arrangements

The day after the _Majestic_ docked, Boxhall said goodbye to his friends and took Pamela with him down the gangplank. They walked to the White Star Line offices in Southampton which was right on the waterfront, then Boxhall told Pamela to stay in the lobby while he met with Lord Pirrie for a few moments. Pamela agreed, sitting down in her black and white striped dress with her black shawl hanging on her shoulders. She still looked too pale for Boxhall's liking and he supposed she had bouts of morning sickness. Pamela seemed content, pulling out a book and reading it, sitting on the deacon's bench in the lobby of the building.

"Lord Pirrie," Boxhall greeted the president of the company cordially. The poor man was white faced and looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep in days. He glanced up from his desk and looked at Boxhall for a moment, then recognition passed into his face.

"Mr. Boxhall! How may I be of assistance to you?" his handshake wasn't firm like usual and Boxhall knew he had been in mourning for his nephew, Thomas Andrews.

"Well, sir, I am taking care of a pregnant lady friend and I want to be near her for at least the next 9 months. She's been going through a hard time lately and she needs my friendship. I want to be there for her."

Lord Pirrie had been well schooled in etiquette and did not ask any questions. He brought out a 3 ring binder and flipped through it. "In the wake of the _Titanic _disaster, all the ships need retrofitting for the new regulations that your friend Mr. Lightoller had put into law. I need an officer to supervise the retrofitting for the _Olympic _and after she's done, the _Oceanic_."

"How long will the retrofitting take, sir?"

"The _Olympic_ will take 6 months with the new second skin, double bottom, and many new lifeboats added on. The _Oceanic _about 4 months because she is smaller."

"I'll do it, sir." Pirrie wrote Boxhall's name in the notebook paper and shut the binder.

"I thank you very much, Mr. Boxhall. My condolences on the loss of Mr. Wilde, Mr. Murdoch, and Mr. Moody."

"Thank you, sir." Moody he hadn't known long but he'd liked him. Murdoch was much loved by everyone and had gained a bit of a following due to the stories of his bravery.

"You report in at 9 a.m. the day after tomorrow, so you can get settled in your home."

Boxhall walked out, seeing Pamela reading a book contentedly. She looked like a queen on the throne and Boxhall liked the fact that she seemed to make the most out of very little. She had been dealt a bad hand at life and he was eager to see how it all panned out later on.

"Come on, Pamela," he took her by the hand and she stood up, putting her book back in her drawstring bag. "come and see where I live."

"Did you get what you wanted?" they exited the building and turned left.

"Indeed I did. They need me to supervise retrofitting of a few ships. The work should keep me land bound for about a year." he waved to an acquaintance on the opposite side of the street.

"Joseph, I can't thank you enough for what you are doing for me."

"Think nothing of it, Pam. Let's go get your things from your flat and we work from there." he squeezed her hand in a friendly manner and she directed him to her apartment.

On the second floor landing, she pulled out a key and opened up the door. Boxhall was greeted by a gentle whiff of lavender as he stepped over the threshold. "You have a beautiful apartment, Pamela."

"Took me a long time to get it this way." she chuckled.

The living room was done in a pale blue with a matching rug, the entrance of the flat had bright hardwood running down the right side where 3 doors were set into the wall. Boxhall hung up his hat and jacket on the hat stand to his immediate left, then walked into the living room. Pamela had a small love seat in a blue and white checked design, a bookshelf full of books stained in a light varnish, and a blue and white rag rug lay on the floor. A matching end table held an electric lamp and a few pieces of notebook paper. Boxhall saw the kitchen, which was beside the living room, then walked after Pamela into her bedroom.

"Pink!" he groaned. Pamela paused from opening up her bureau and giggled.

"Actually, it's rose colored," she dumped her clothes into her suitcase. "I wanted it to be a girly apartment."

"You don't need to do anything else on that front."

Gathering up her things took an hour and Boxhall saw that she had a telephone in her apartment. "You have one of those?"

"It's an annoyance is what it is," she told him as they left and she locked the flat. "my ring is 1 short and 2 longs but I never remember to answer it. The phone rings whenever someone is calling someone else, so I end up unhooking it most of the time. If it rang when it was just for me, great. A lot of people listen in on the other end so you can't really have a private conversation with anyone."

"Do you need to work things out with the landlord?"

"Nope!" they walked down the stairs and Boxhall held open the door for her as they walked out into the sunshine. "I took care of that while you were in your meeting."

"Smart lady," he commented as he led the way to his house. "I hope you like it here."

Boxhall's place was a small 1 story house which had 3 bedrooms in the back along with indoor facilities. His living room was a dingy brown with ratty old furniture and a layer of dust on the armchair. His kitchen and dining room was one big space with the stove on one end and the chair and tables on the other. The bedroom alotted to Pamela was a dull gray with rotting pine wood paneling at the window.

"I think we need to renovate this place first," Pamela rubbed her hands together, eager to start. "I'm thinking-"

"Not pink!"

"No! Green would go great in here. We need to tear that molding off, clean up the walls, and paint it a nice light green."

"You may do whatever you want in there."

"What about the living room?"

"What about it?"

Pamela rolled her eyes. "You men! Brown is too dark and the paint is coming off. Your furniture needs to be cleaned and fixed up."

"Can you do all that?"

"Of course!"

"Very well then, oh mistress of the paint," he mock-bowed to her and she laughed. "tonight we just take it easy."

"That's right." Boxhall had bought some groceries and she cooked for him to show some appreciation. Tucking in, Boxhall found that Pamela cooked a mean chicken. He complimented her on her cooking skills and they planned the day ahead of them. Both of them agreed that the house needed a repaint on the inside, some minor repair work, and Pamela told him that she would start a garden for him. Low-maintenance plants like daffodils, tulips, hosta bushes and forsythia would work well and they would flourish for years. She sketched out a plan and once he approved of it, she would start work on the garden once the house was finished.


	6. Chapter 6

6. Makeover

Early the next day, Pamela brought in 2 roller paintbrushes, a regular paintbrush, a paint tray, a gallon of light green, and a gallon of light yellow to spruce up the living room. Boxhall watched her as she tied on her oldest apron over a raggedy looking dress. He eyed her figure surreptitiously, though he knew it would be another month or two before anything became obvious. Pamela had already washed down the walls, so she started right in on the paint, opening up the can, stirring to mix up the green, and then pouring some into the paint tray. Boxhall had removed the window paneling for her already and threw it out. Pamela started painting with gusto, putting an even amount of pressure onto the roller brush to get an even coating onto the drywall.

Boxhall picked up the paintbrush and began to do the finer points, outlining the wall near the door paneling, trying not to get the paneling green. He worked intently, letting his mind fly around in his head as the steady sound of the roller brush drain out into the background noise until he hardly noticed it at all.

"Pam," Boxhall dipped his brush into the paint can as he dropped to his knees to do the kick molding. "have you ever thought about getting married?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Well, it would be a shame if your child had no father."

"Are you insinuating that I can't do it all myself?"

"No, I'm asking you if you ever thought about marriage."

"Oh yeah," she snorted a laugh. "get tricked into an engagement to some old hack who can't even stand up by himself."

"Have you had experience in that direction?"

The roller brush sound died out for a moment then started again. "It's of no consequence. My dear guardian betrothed me to some 40 year old man who was very ill and he died within a month of the engagement. I had just completed school and there she went, hitching me up to some guy who could barely string 2 words together."

"What happened to him?"

"Dementia or something like that. He couldn't remember who I was which worked in my favor. Two days after the engagement, I sold off the ring and ran away to Scotland until I got word that he died."

"What about your mother?"

"She never forgave me but I didn't care about that. I came here, got the flat, and worked in my burlesque house until Baron interrupted my life and gave me a child in return. Or he will soon enough." one hand absently dropped down to her waist. Boxhall stared for a moment, as he could hardly believe that she was having a baby and yet there was no physical evidence of it at all. Pamela resumed painting and soon she had covered one wall. Because the room was small, they covered the entire room with the first coat of paint and after lunchtime, they put on the second coat.

"Perhaps you ought to hire yourself out as a painter, Pam," Boxhall commented as the paint dried. "I've never seen this room look so good."

"Thanks, Joseph." she gave him a little hug, then they started on the living room. Boxhall put the furniture in the hallway, they scrubbed down the walls, then gave the living room the first coat of soft yellow paint Pamela had picked out. With a break for tea, they got the room looking more cheerful and they were done by dinnertime. The furniture needed to be replaced badly and Boxhall said he would tend to that during the weekend.

Pamela had cooked bangers and mash which Boxhall especially enjoyed. He took a drink from his glass and asked what she would do when the landscaping was done to keep herself busy.

"Well, I can't run the burlesque house with the media watching me," she said with disappointment in her voice. "maybe I'll take up sewing or something. It'll be a long 9 months."

Boxhall didn't say anything but he agreed.

When he went to work the next day, Pamela was putting on her dress when she noticed something unusual. Where there had been tight flesh the day before there now was a small rounded knob. She hitched up her shirt and looked at the knob in the mirror for a long moment. Finally a little evidence that she was carrying a child! Pamela pulled down the shirt and wanted to show Boxhall but he had left for work already.

That day, she dug out a small garden lining the front of the house and had some workmen put a flagstoned pathway up to the front door from the street. Planting marigolds and some other flowers, it was close to 2 p.m. when she realized she had missed lunch. An early tea break would suffice as a late lunch, so that was what she did.

Boxhall spent the day supervising the riveters, who were installing the second layer of skin on the Olympic. He looked around and made sure everyone was cooperating and keeping things going smoothly. All throughout the day he had been wondering what Pamela was going to make for the latest culinary masterpiece and he was eager to get home when the clock chimed 5:00.

When he got home, he saw Pamela was sitting down at the table and she had made up pork chops. Boxhall greeted her cheerfully but she did not return his sally.

"What is it, Pam?"

"This." she handed him a note she had gotten in the mail.

"I know you are back and I will get my revenge. I am watching you so watch your step." the missive was unsigned but they knew who sent it. Boxhall was at a loss, so he enveloped her in a hug and she gratefully accepted it.

"Try not to worry about it. I've got you and I won't let you go." he promised.


	7. Chapter 7

"Try not to worry about it," Pamela huffed. "they don't know I'm having his child yet Joe, of course I'm going to worry about it no matter what! At any rate, we have to go to the police so we can get this taken care of."

"Right you are," Boxhall watched her stand up and put on a shawl. "going now, are we?"

She gave him a dirty look. "And what would you do exactly if you were in my shoes?"

"Point taken." Boxhall guided her out the door and locked it behind them, putting the key in his pocket. She took his arm and they walked down to the police station like any other married couple of the time. Pamela clutched at his hand for a moment, afraid if anyone was going to jump her or attack them both. Boxhall sensed her fear and held his head up high, nonverbally warning people to stay away from them.

"Why Joseph!" Lightoller was walking from the direction of the docks. "How are you?"

Pamela bristled a little bit at being ignored. "I guess I don't count then? Because I'm a woman?"

Lightoller looked aghast and then remembered from the Carpathia that she had a capricious temper when she got going. "No indeed, Ms. Brackett."

After the two officers had exchanged pleasantries and Lightoller had gone on his way, Boxhall turned to Pamela. "Are you mad, woman?"

"I don't like it when people ignore me, Joe." was all she said as they reached the police station.

"Now let me get this straight," the captain put his hat aside and hung it up on the rack in the corner. "Anthony Baron came to your burlesque house, Ms. Brackett, and engaged in sexual intercourse with you. Today there is a note in the mail swearing apparent revenge against you. Have you the note?"

"Yes sir." Captain Roberts perused the note, mumbling to himself as he did so. Boxhall gave Pamela's hand a squeeze underneath the edge of the desk where the captain would not notice. Fortunately, Baron's campaign for reelection was progressing slowly. Pamela had heard through some whispers on the streetsides that Baron would be using Pamela more as a face of what was wrong with London, downright calling her a whore. He wanted to make her famous, though not in a good way. The election in November was 7 months away and Pamela would be giving birth in 6 months. She wondered what she would do as she got bigger. Would she have to conceal her bump or would she be bold enough to proclaim what had happened between her and Baron?

No, there was no way to prove that it was his, though maybe that advantage would work for her later on. If Boxhall was willing, he could marry her and claim that the child was his. Pamela didn't want to put any strain on him, not when he'd already been so wonderful to her.

"It appears that you wrote this note, Ms. Brackett," Roberts lifted his gaze from the paper and looked at her. Roberts was a tall man, ectomorphic in build, frizzy gray hair and dull black eyes. He looked like he'd been in the force too long and was overdue for retirement. "wanting attention now, are we?"

"What?" Pamela snapped as Boxhall's jaw fell open. "You've never seen my handwriting before, sir, so how the hell would you know?!"

He grinned sarcastically. "You did a buddy of mine a few months ago and I've seen the little love note you wrote for him! I'm with Baron on this one-we need less gutter trash like you walkin' the streets!"

Pamela grabbed Boxhall's hand and they left the police station. "Better get yourself another girl, Mr. Boxhall! She'll drag you down too!" Roberts called.

Once they rounded the corner, Pamela sat down on a low stone wall, put her head in her hands and wept. Boxhall sat next to her, his arms on her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Pam. We'll find a way to protect you and the baby. I promise."

"Promises go unfulfilled, Joe!" she wailed. "I have no way to provide for this baby once it comes and everyone will think that I'm a whore!"

"Hey!" Boxhall put his hand under her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. "None of that! Didn't you tell me that you love doing the dance thing because you get paid for it and you love the creative chances that you take? No other line of work would be so self-satisfying for you! I don't want you to call yourself a whore ever again!"

"Oh, Joe!" Pamela wiped her eyes and kissed him on the cheek. "Has anyone told you how wonderful you are?"

He took her right hand from where it rested on his chest and kissed it. "No matter what, I will make sure of your safety."

Pamela gave him a watery grin and looked over his left shoulder where she saw a shadow approaching them. Boxhall turned to see a man walking out of the shadows, stopping a few feet in front of them. He wore the British policeman outfit and he had somber blue eyes with dark blonde hair.

"Excuse me," he said in a slight singsong voice, evidence he was still a young man. "I've come to help you."

"Who are you?" Boxhall demanded, standing up.

"My name is Reginald Wolfe," the young policeman replied. "I heard my ... superior blatantly call you a liar to your face and I did not like that one bit. I wish to offer my services in protecting your wife."

Pamela flushed dark red, though Boxhall didn't notice. "She's my friend, not my wife." he clarified. Reginald glanced to her and she nodded in affirmation.

"My apologies, madam. Anyway, I happen to know that Anthony Baron paid off Roberts to deny you legal and physical protection."

"I should have known," Pamela said angrily. "cutting off my resources like that."

"What can you do for us, sir?"

"Mr. Boxhall, I have contacts all over Southampton and London. I can get the inside story of what is going on here. I will report back to you when I find anything. In the meantime, continue to live your life like you would have. The worst thing you could do right now is act afraid. It will only fuel Baron's vendetta against you, so to speak."

Pamela stood up and shook the young man's hand. "I thank you, sir. If I might speak candidly for a moment?"

"Of course."

"Thanks. Baron has left me with an impending love child. What do you think I should do?"

"Ms. Brackett, I have had experience in this area with a few teenage girls. My best recommendation is to find a man and get married. It does not have to be a real marriage, of course," he added hastily. "but you will want a strong solid man in your corner who will fight for you."

"I can understand that." Pamela said slowly.

"It would protect you and the child from the various social stigmas associated with unwed mothers and bastard children as well," Wolfe told her. "it is all in what you want to do."

Pamela glanced at Boxhall. "We will discuss this. Will you come calling when you have news or what of the method of disclosure?" Boxhall and the other 2 people started walking down the street again.

"I will come and tell you in person. For now, I have rounds to do. Good luck."

"And you." they watched him walk off in the opposite direction, every part of him screamed British cop to any ruffian walking by.

"I'm glad someone's in our corner, at least." Boxhall muttered, squeezing his friend's hand.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8. Decisions

Pamela sighed and looked around Boxhall's house. It had been completely redone on the inside since she was living there now and it looked so much brighter. His kitchen/dining area was a pale blue and Pamela liked it so much she decided it could stay. Now, she was reclining on the newly reupholstered armchair, which was so much more comfortable than before. Boxhall had replaced the cracked door molding in the doorframe and painted it white himself.

"Well, Pam, I must say that you did an excellent job on the garden outside." Boxhall remarked as he walked inside. "It looks so much more cheerful now."

"Thank you, Joe." Pamela accepted the newspaper from her friend and flipped it open to the funnies section that she enjoyed reading. "Oh no." her eyes scanned the page, seeing a picture of her nemesis Baron. He was standing at a podium with a smirk on his face, one hand out to wave to the crowd, one hand palm out to the crowd as if he was pushing them away. The arrogance in his face was evident, even from black ink and gray newsprint. She scanned the page and groaned in disgust.

"That!" she sputtered, unable to even think of a swear word. Boxhall came over and sat near her, edging forward on his couch.

"What is it?"

"It says here that Anthony Baron is telling people how he was suckered into my burlesque house by my alluring attitude and lewd behavior! He came in there with his little brain guiding him if you know what I mean!" Pamela handed the newspaper over to Boxhall.

The article outlined Baron's experience, basically telling how Pamela was beguiling him, he got roped into her "peep show" as he called it, and was so under her spell that he took her upstairs and had sex with her. Boxhall grew more and more angry when he read the article through, his face turning beet red as he took the paper and threw it into the fireplace. Standing up, he lighted it on fire and as the flame began to burn, his anger started to ebb away.

"Well, that does it!" Pamela stood up, startling Boxhall. "I'll go public with the baby and see how he likes it!"

"What?! No!" Boxhall grabbed her by the arm and looked into her eyes. "Promise me you won't do something so rash as that!"

"He deserves it! Let me go!"

"No!"

"Damnit, Joe!" she tried to get away but he was too strong. "Have you got something up your sleeve that I don't know about?"

"I do. Stop struggling!" he admonished her, sitting down with her on the couch. "I'll tell you when you calm down!"

Pamela reluctantly stopped her struggling and composed herself. Smoothing out her brown and white checked gingham dress, she exhaled slowly and looked at Boxhall. With a slight nod to indicate that she was ready, he began.

"I will transfer to the White Star Line offices in New York and work from there. You will move into New York with me, have the baby, and we can lead a happy life. There isn't any reason why we couldn't still be happy."

"Joseph, now I'm insulted!" Pamela stood up and glared at him. "If you are to be involved in this child's life, you're teaching him or her to take the easy way out! I will not run away because Baron is choosing to drag my name through the mud! Only by standing up to him will he finally back down! Believe me, I've done this when I was in school and I know what I am doing."

Boxhall stammered for a few moments, not sure of what to say. Pamela took the cast-iron poker and jabbed at the remains of the newspaper, happy to see it all burn. She threw in a few scraps of birch bark to keep the flame going, then put in a pine log. The officer put his face in his hands and mulled over what Pamela had just told him as she sat back down in the armchair and steepled her hands together.

"Do you really think that that's what I'm doing to you?" he asked finally, lifting his head up and leaning back.

"I think you're doing the bad thing with the best of intentions," she answered honestly. "besides, we have Wolfe to keep us up to date on Baron."

"I almost forgot about him." Boxhall muttered. "So what do we do?"

"Let's brainstorm with Wolfe when he gets in tonight, OK?" Pamela picked up a book. "I don't want to make a hasty decision."

Boxhall grinned to himself. Maybe he was rubbing off on her to some degree.

When Reginald Wolfe came in to supper that night, he sat down and ate quickly, eager to tell all that he knew. Pamela and Boxhall looked at each other with raised eyebrows but gave Wolfe all the leeway he needed to get his thoughts together as well.

"Well now, we start at the beginning with the obvious," Wolfe wiped his mouth and looked at the two across from him. "Baron is a lonely man, truth be known. His wife is the emotionally closed off variety of women and when he couldn't... erm, let's just say that she didn't produce the kind of sexual experience that he wanted, so he developed the wayward eye. The wife is so oblivious to her husband that it makes me wonder why he didn't divorce her at all."

"They're expensive." Boxhall supplied.

"Maybe that's it. He's a greedy idiot and all he thinks about when he does use his brains is money. Baron realized he could buy the sort of experience that he wanted and look where that got him."

"Please," Pamela interrupted. "since I saw him last?"

"This is where it gets interesting," Wolfe leaned forward. "he has a... lady of the night servicing him whenever he gets the urge now. Her name's Valerie and she travels with him while he campaigns; he calls her his daughter or distant cousin or something like that."

"Valerie Connolly?"

"Yep."

"She's one of the girls in the burlesque house. I've got to talk to her."

"In the meantime," Wolfe said in a placating tone. "you might want to think about marrying some man so your child doesn't bear the stigma of being a bastard."

"But it will be one," Pamela put her hands on her belly. "Baron wouldn't take it and I wouldn't let him either."

"You don't need to publicize that it is a bastard." Wolfe was patient. Boxhall snorted suddenly, thinking about earlier. Pamela shot him a glare to keep quiet.

"But who would marry me while I'm like this?"

Wolfe glanced surreptitiously at Boxhall while Pamela got up to fetch something from the stove.

"Do you think I should?"

"You know her the best. It would be a good idea to do it soon before she starts showing."

"That shouldn't be long now if I remember right." Pamela came back in with the teapot and two cups. She doled them out to Wolfe and Boxhall quietly, sitting down and watching them both the best she could.

"Pamela, I have a question for you." Boxhall started.

"Shoot."

"Will you marry me?"

She jumped like she'd been shocked with 10,000 volts. "I wasn't expecting that to be honest with you."

"I know." Boxhall had to smile. "It's the best thing to do, don't you see?"

"Uhhh, I really don't know..."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9. Conversations

"Why so hesitant, Pamela?" Wolfe asked, bemused by her prevarication. "Don't you want your baby to have a father?"

"Yes, but not like this.. It's nothing against you, Joe." she added quickly, not wanting to hurt her friend's feelings.

Boxhall looked worried and bemused at the same time. "It's OK. Will you tell me why?"

"I want to marry for love and not because my unborn baby needs a father!" she blurted out. "I don't want my baby to grow up in a household where the mother and father don't act like they're in love every single day! What kind of example is that setting?"

Neither man could say anything regarding that. Wolfe sipped his tea and looked content, while Boxhall didn't know if he'd been insulted or complimented. He picked up his cup and drank a bit of it, the sharp hot taste seemingly shocking him back into his senses. Peach and ginger gave him a reviving boost and he looked over at Pamela, unwilling to argue with her. She gave him an apologetic look as Wolfe took up a slice of lemon and squeezed the juice into his tea.

There was nothing but the sound of a teaspoon clinking against the cup a few times as Wolfe stirred his tea and sized Pamela up with his eyes. The moment seemed long as he took another drink, smiled slightly, then put down the cup. "I believe a compromise might be in order."

Boxhall and Pamela turned to Wolfe almost in unison. "How about an engagement instead? It'll take time to get this Baron affair and your baby will be born with at least a father figure around if nothing at all."

"I'd be OK with that." she told the men tenatively.

"Good," Wolfe finished his tea and stood up. "all you'd need is a ring and you should be all set on that front. You know it is severely frowned upon for a couple to marry for at least a year after the engagement nowadays."

"Since when does society dictate that to us?" Pamela asked sarcastically. "I think the stigmas should be kept off my body and my life, thank you very much."

Wolfe's respect for Pamela shot up a few notches in his mind. "I knew I liked you." he bade them both goodnight and putting on his hat, started off down the street. Boxhall was just closing the door when a low rumble of thunder growled in the distance, followed by a flash of lightning.

"Oh, I love thunderstorms!" Pamela exclaimed, plopping herself onto the couch and drawing back the curtains. "Joe, come watch the storm with me!"

Boxhall chuckled and joined Pamela on the couch. They spent about half an hour watching the storm, exclaiming aloud at the forked lightning that occasionally split the air. Thunder rumbled directly overhead and a tremendous clap followed, making them jump.

"Wow!" Boxhall enthused, then noticed that Pamela had a look of bewilderment on her face. "What is it?"

She looked up at him with a grin on her face, took his hand, then pressed it to her belly. Boxhall could feel the small knob that was her future child, though her clothes masked it very well. He looked at her like she'd lost her head, but her grin did not go away.

"It moved, Joseph."

"Oh!" he breathed slowly. "I see!"

"Finally some evidence that there is a little baby inside me!" she chirped. "I can't wait for it to move more!"

The following afternoon, Pamela put on a blue and white calico dress, carefully shaping it around her waist so her small bump didn't show, pinned up her hair, then attired herself with a pale yellow straw boater hat. The hat had a strip of white calico tied around the crown with a bow at the back, the two ends just dipped off the edge of the mat of her hat. She picked up a white shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders loosely, put on her old brown kid gloves, then left the house. The sun shone down on her as she clicked her way down the flagstoned path and took a right.

Coming to her destination, Pamela rang a small bell at a small flat about 10 blocks from where she lived with Boxhall. The brick front of the apartment building was still holding up strongly, though all the white trim and door moldings were decrepit and falling off in patches. Flowers planted along the walkway had died off and the only sign of life were the crows cawing.

"Val?" Pamela called. "I know you're in there!"

The door opened up enough to permit one beady blue eye to look at Pamela. It then shut, Pamela heard the chain latch being drawn aside, and the door opened all the way. "Come in."

"Sheesh, you let this place go to hell." Pamela came in and sat down on the couch in the sitting room. "What's been going on with you?"

"I've been in private employ," Valerie Connolly said simply, sitting down across from her old boss and friend. Her red and purple heliotrope dress was faded and raggedy among the hemline and Pamela noticed Valerie looked tired and worn out. Her face was a bit pale, her hair was unkempt, and she seemed highly nervous. "I haven't had any time to do much else to be honest."

"That much is obvious to be really honest," Pamela shifted her position. "I heard you were... servicing Anthony Baron."

Valerie's face went even whiter. "How did you know that?"

"I have my sources." Pamela deflected the question promptly as she started around the dingy flat. "Anyway, I came to tell you that he's a big fat liar and not to trust him."

"He's slandering you all the time. Are you sure?"

"Please take my word over a corrupt politician!" Pamela barked, annoyed. "He's a liar and a cheat!"

"What's he ever done to you?"

"What he says about me and him, that's essentially true. You and I know that guys tend to think with their downstairs when they see a pretty lady. I had to do what I did if I wanted my business to stay open. He went too far."

"In what way?" Valerie listened, wide-eyed.

"He told me that if I didn't have sex with him, he'd close down the house."

"You did that!" her friend gasped.

"He doesn't know this next part," Pamela pulled up the shirt part of her dress, exposing the small bump. "see?"

"Oh my God!" Valerie put her hands on the bump as Pamela stood up so she could see it better. "So this is a love child developing?"

"Between us, yes." she let her friend keep her hand on the bump for a few minutes then gently removed them. "So please don't listen to him."

"When will you open up the house again?"

"Soon," Pamela promised. "all this publicity Baron is throwing out, though it is negative, might boost business. I'll let you know."

Valerie winked at her friend. "Deal. See you later then."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10. Open For Business

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Boxhall asked as Pamela stood in front of the bathroom mirror and wound her braid into a bun at the back of her head. "He'll send his goons after you!"

"Oh Joe, stop it already!" she scolded as she took a bobby pin out of her mouth and tucked it into the bun. "I can't stop living my life just because he's slandering me. I refuse to step down and let him have power over me. I think you understand that."

"I do, really I do," he watched her as she turned to him. "but protect yourself, please! I don't want anything to happen to you."

Pamela looked into Boxhall's eyes, reading the meaning behind him. He cared for her like a friend but she believed that there was something more in his eyes now, though she didn't know exactly what it was. Some of his quiet nature she had naturally absorbed and she was becoming a little like him now, holding her tongue a little more and not being in a capricious temper when someone pushed at her buttons.

"I understand, really," Pamela told him, touching the side of his face with the back of one of her hands. "I will be ready for any trouble that might come my way. I promise you." he sighed briefly as he reached up and took her hand. Boxhall looked down at it for a moment, tracing the lines and admiring her hand inwardly. His friend had long digits with nails grown out to about half an inch long, enough to be ladylike but not get in the way.

Looking at her hands reminded him of something. "I almost forgot," he turned and pulled a small box out of his back pocket. "if anyone asks about us." Pamela smiled as she saw a plain golden ring with the Celtic knot engraved onto it. Boxhall picked it up and slid it onto her left ring finger, grinning as Pamela felt the coolness of the ring slip on. Her hand seemed to feel weighted down a bit, but she held it up and admired it.

"Oh Joe, it's so beautiful." she kissed him on the cheek, making him flush red for a millisecond. "I will be proud to wear it!"

"I'm glad you like it," he said softly as he put the box away. "I remembered you telling me once that you had Celtic blood in your family."

"Yes I do," Pamela wanted to say more, but she caught a glimpse of the clock. "Got to run. I'll be back at about 11 tonight." she grabbed her shawl and headed out the door.

Boxhall stood there for a moment longer, thinking about Pamela. Then he sighed, put on his uniform hat, and walked out to the docks.

Pamela was glad to see her burlesque house was still standing, exactly how she had left it. She unlocked the door, greeted her girls, then sat down in the back office to complete the paperwork that had been piling up. Taxes were due and those kept her very busy until about 10:30 that night.

When she was done, she stretched and yawned loudly, reaching above her head with her hands. Pamela glanced around the room, remembering it was there in which Baron had talked her into having sex with him. He had been in such a fit of excitement and offered her money that she couldn't refuse it. The money had put a new roof on the house and had enough left over to fix the malfunctioning ceiling light in the main room. The clientele were happier about that and so were the employees.

"Right over here on the couch was where you were conceived," Pamela got up and moved from the desk to the couch, sitting on it quietly. She rubbed her small bump, still concealed behind her clothing. The future mother felt a kick and she smiled, knowing she had woken up her son or daughter. "Yes babe, you were brought into being right on this very couch. Though your daddy may be a dirtbag, I'll still love you."

"Pam?" Valerie knocked on the door and then came in. "Who are you talking to?"

"My baby."

"Oh." her friend wore a two piece nude-colored leotard and she was carrying two big feather fans. They were fake peacock feathers, all strung together with stout wire and sequins were glued onto it at random which produced a shimmering effect when it was in the stagelights.

"Ready for the peekaboo dance?"

"Yeah." Pamela made a pained face. "Something wrong?"

"No. It pushed me rather hard, that's all."

"Oh! Can I see?" she grinned and hitched up the layers of fabric that concealed the little bump nicely. Valerie put her hand on the small rounded bulge and cooed to the unborn child for a few minutes, producing a kick. "How does it feel to you?"

"Rather ticklish," Pamela admitted. The baby hadn't moved when Boxhall was around yet but it would happen soon. She wanted Boxhall to share in the moment like she was doing with Valerie. "It just started moving yesterday."

"Must be wonderful!"

"I'll be saying otherwise when I'm full-term," the ladies laughed. "do you need help fixing your hair again?"

"Would ya?" Valerie looked sheepish. Pamela laughed again and got up. She fixed her friend's long golden hair with a French twist. Coiling it up, she tucked it into a big knot at the back of her head and curled her friend's bangs with the hot end of a piece of chalk. Valerie put on eyeliner, blush, and some gaudy red lipstick, then she went onstage. Pamela knew she had to make an appearance towards the end of the night and wondered what was going to happen then.

Valerie's peekaboo dance, done with raunchy music from a gramophone, was always the highlight of the night. She would sashay around and dance suggestively, using the two big fans to conceal her body from the men. After a few minutes she would remove one of the fans concealing her "naughty bits" as Pamela called them, then bring the other fan up to conceal the part of her body. She did it slowly and suggestively, producing catcalls from several men. At 11 p.m. they were done for the day. All the men reluctantly left, paying for their drinks and whatnot.

"You did great, my chickadees!" Pamela ushered her employees out the side door and saw them all out safely. Locking the office door, she left the house, locked the side door, then walked home, carefully taking the brightly lit sidewalks.

For the next 2 weeks, everything went well. Boxhall had started to suspect that he might have more than just friendly feelings for Pamela, though he kept his mouth shut about that around her. Pamela hadn't grown an obvious baby belly yet, as her clothes still concealed it very well. Boxhall found himself in her room after she had gone to bed and watched her sleep several times. Through her light green nightshirt, he'd seen a small outline of where the bump really was. The officer had crept up close to Pamela, unwilling to wake her up, then stretched a hand out to the bump, wanting to feel it moving for himself. Ever so lightly, his hand rested on her unborn child, separated by Pamela's skin, and waited patiently.

Surely enough, right against his hand, he saw a little indent of a hand or a foot, then it moved. Boxhall's hand went up and down for a moment as the child kicked again. He moved his hand, stunned, then saw a push. The loose fabric of the nightshirt bunched up and fell to one side, exposing the small bump in all its glory. The bump was about two inches down from Pamela's waist, which Boxhalla assumed helped nicely with concealing it, and it was rounded to the size of about a baseball sphere. It was just big enough to jut out, though not big enough to be seen with the naked eye with a little bit of padding of course.

Pamela never woke up during Boxhall's brief moment with her unborn child. He left them the way they were and for the next day, his thoughts kept coming to the impending baby.

One Saturday night, Pamela was locking up the side door, when she heard someone move behind her. Thinking nothing of it, she tucked the key into the pocket of her dress and stopped when she felt a particularly hard kick from the inside. Puzzled, she turned around to go home, but something was rammed into one of her shoulders, she heard the faint hissing sound of a syringe being injected, her body went slack, and she fell to the ground.

_Please don't hurt my baby. _was all she remembered thinking.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11. Tracy Baron

A/N: The torture scenes are going to be a bit graphic, just so you know. I'll try to leave as much to your imaginations as possible!

When Boxhall got up the next morning, he was confused, not seeing Pamela in her room. He'd hoped to steal a moment to feel her unborn kicking again, but it wasn't going to happen that morning. He shrugged and got himself ready for work like usual, thinking that Pamela might have stayed over Valerie's that night.

Just as he was getting ready to leave, Wolfe burst in through the front door, panting hard. Boxhall jumped, startled as the policeman shut the door and strode over to the officer.

"Is Pam here?"

"No, she didn't make it back last night." Boxhall blew on his coffee.

Wolfe got his wind back and looked at the officer carefully. "You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes, you can go look in her room if you like."

"I believe you. Listen, Baron's mistress on the side dumped him a few days ago, Pam's name came up, and he's hell-bent on kidnapping her! She can't go out in public anymore!"

"Oh, God!"

"That's not all, Joe! One of my men on the streets says he saw Baron with a lady walking to his house at about midnight last night."

"Could that be Pamela?"

"It's damn likely!"

"So what do we do now?"

"I'm going to see if I can get a search warrant for the Baron family's home. It'll take a day or two but I pray nothing happens to Pamela."

"I should probably go and pray too." Boxhall muttered. "So what do I do in the meantime?"

"Was your engagement announced in any of the papers?"

"Yeah, all of them. Why?"

"Baron might come for you too. He reads the papers everyday and you're not likely to slip by him unnoticed."

"Oh great. I can't sit around here and do nothing."

"Go to work but keep your eyes open." Wolfe advised.

"Easier said than done."

Pamela woke up on a cot in a dingy room. There was one window which beamed sunlight through the musty air. She sneezed and opened her eyes fully.

"Awake now, I see." drawled a female voice. "Get up then."

"My pleasure." she did so, a little taken aback to notice that her dress had been removed as were her shoes.

"It will be my pleasure now." the female said in a sinister tone. "Now walk over here." there was a table in the middle of the room which Pamela ascertained was a basement in a house. She stood beside the table and lay down on it when she was told to. The female walked over and took Pamela's wrists, shackling them down so they were above her head. The same was done for her ankles and Pamela gasped when she saw a knife blade in the dim light. In one swoop, the woman cut off Pamela's undershirt and underwear, leaving her stark naked.

"I am Tracy Baron, but I think you already knew that." a lantern sputtered into life. Tracy had white blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and dark rings under her eyes. Pamela measured her up, then her gaze traveled down to where a swelled and distended belly poked up from the woman's dress.

"You're pregnant!"

"And you're not!" Tracy slapped her across the face. Pamela looked down at herself and drew a sigh when she saw that her bump would not be noticeable if she kept lying down like she was. Her skin turned to goosebumps as she felt a cold breeze pass her by.

"I spent so much time with Anthony," Tracy said lazily as she pulled out a whetstone and began to sharpen her knife blade. "cultivating a family, raising them properly, then Anthony gets some notion in his head that he wants to be a politician and did I say no? Of course not. Wife wants husband to be happy."

_Scrape scrape._ "Then of course, one of his friends tells him about a burlesque house run by you and trampy little friends. He decides he's unhappy with me and goes to the house for one night," Tracy tested the blade and put the whetstone away, giving a maniacal little laugh. "one long night."

"Ain't my fault!" Pamela barked so loudly the baby kicked her hard, making her wince. She'd have to keep her voice low, as the child would react to sudden noises now.

"It is!" Tracy slapped her again. "For having that pervert house so near my own!" this time her belly jumped and she put a hand on it as she sat down again. "Calm down, baby. Mom will make this right again." she told her unborn child. Pamela wondered if she'd look that big when she was full-term.

"When are you due? Any day now?"

"It's of no concern of yours!" Tracy lashed out with the knife, making a cut dangerously close to Pamela's skin. "You're the problem here! My son and daughter leave me after their father's shenanigans with you, I'm having the child of some ungrateful louse of a husband! It's all because of you!"

Pamela refused to answer anymore and Tracy mistook that as defiance. Lashing out again with the blade, she cut a four inch long gash down the side of Pamela's left arm.

"That's just a warmup. I'll do more to you later on!" Tracy chloroformed Pamela and went upstairs, one hand on her big belly, calling out to her husband in a chirpy and cheerful voice.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12. Missing

Pamela had been gone for 4 days now and Boxhall was getting anxious about her. He thought of filing a missing persons report but Wolfe told him not to do that, as it would attract unwanted publicity and Baron would have even more fodder for his campaign. Boxhall knew Wolfe was right, but he still wanted Pamela found, no matter what. He had taken to pacing the bedroom at night for a few hours before sleep would carry him off, and his work showed no signs of his mental distress. He had been an officer in the White Star Line for a long time now and he knew how to prevent his mental stresses from impacting his job.

One afternoon just before he started home, Lord Pirrie called him to his office for a chat. The old man looked better since the sinking debacle and he appraised Boxhall now with his keen eyes and bade him to sit down.

"Thank you, sir." Boxhall preempted a chair and sat down in it.

"Are you doing all right, Mr. Boxhall? The men say you seem distant now."

"It's a few problems in my personal life, sir."

"Ah. If I remember correctly, you had a pregnant friend to take care of, yes?"

"More like be there if she needed care," Boxhall amended. "things get a little intense and that often throws me for a loop, so to speak. I'm not used to it."

Lord Pirrie chuckled and leaned back. "It is an emotional time in a lady's life, having the child of one that she loves. Is the father in the child's life?"

Boxhall wanted to roll his eyes and snort. "No, sir. He doesn't know about the child and neither of them loved the other."

"Oh, it's one of those," Pirrie said, his voice went down low for a minute. "she's having a bastard baby."

"Sir, I must protest the label you put upon the child," tired and emotionally distraught, Boxhall glared at his boss. "it did not ask to be conceived or born into a place where the father doesn't know that it lives."

Pirrie recognized the vehemence and measured Boxhall up with his eyes. "You have grown to care for the mother and child, have you not?"

"Sir!"

"I mean no harm, Mr. Boxhall. This is just between the two of us, do I make myself clear?"

The officer relaxed marginally. "Yes sir."

"It is not unusual in the least to become infatuated with a lady who is having a bastard child. I would say once you feel the lad moving underneath her skin, you would be developing an affection for the child as well. Might I ask if you have felt that phenomenon?"

Boxhall reddened slightly, remembering when he had gone into Pamela's room while she was asleep and put his hand on her small bump. The child had moved, nudging his hand around and he cleared his throat. "Yes sir."

Lord Pirrie smiled. "Then you have felt the miracle of creation which lies in our children, Mr. Boxhall. If you need a few days off to care for the mother, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you sir." the owner of the White Star Line waved him out with a gentle smile.

When he had returned home, Boxhall saw Wolfe was waiting for him nearby. He unlocked the door and admitted the policeman in, asking him immediately what news that had transpired. The lanky cop sat down on the couch and measured his words carefully, not wanting to upset Boxhall. From his experience on the police force, he'd dealt with many relatives that wanted news of their loved ones and Boxhall was no different. If he said the wrong thing, Boxhall would be shattered. He finally arranged his words into a sentence and looked up at the White Star Line officer.

"Rumor is going around that Mrs. Baron has disappeared from public sight," he pulled a clipping out of his pocket and handed it to Boxhall. Mrs. Baron was a plump figure with dark hair and eyes. The picture had been taken a month ago, as she was arm in arm with her husband and waving to the photographers. Of interest, Boxhall noted a very obvious pregnant belly poking out from her dress. "she's also having his child and is due any day now. The lady has a history of mental instability and violence. She has a nasty habit of flying into rages of which she does horrible things and claims afterward that she doesn't remember doing any of it. Several witnesses tell the truth but because her husband is well connected, she gets off every time."

"Damned politics," Boxhall cursed, passing the clipping back to Wolfe. "so how do we rescue Pamela?"

"I have a few men already working on that part, Mr. Boxhall. Mrs. Baron injured a few of my men's wives, apparently from a jealous rage or something like that, so they will do anything that they can to bring her down. The house has been on stakeout ever since Pamela disappeared." Wolfe looked like he wanted to say more but stopped, afraid of causing Boxhall any more distress.

Boxhall knew it immediately. "What aren't you saying?"

"Mrs. Baron likes to go into her basement these past nights and one of my men has heard screams. They were faint, but he has the ears of a bat and I trust him absolutely."

The officer paled. "So that means.."

"Mrs. Baron is doing horrid things to Pamela," Wolfe nodded. "we have enough to get a search warrant, though I do not want to rouse suspicion that we think they are up to something."

"So what do we do?"

Wolfe steepled his hands together. "The Barons will be leaving for France tomorrow around early evening. I think that you and I should go over there and conduct a raid."

"I'm for that." Boxhall put his head in his hands. "God, I hope they don't do anything to the baby." Wolfe gave him an odd look.

"The mother first, the baby second," he said harshly, standing up. "once the health of Pamela is assured, her child will follow."

"Of course."

"Mr. Boxhall, I do suggest you go to work like nothing has happened tomorrow." Wolfe noted upon his arrival that the officer looked exhausted and drawn. "We will put an end to this once and for all. Mrs. Baron is a menace and should be in prison. You must get all the rest you can, as tomorrow will be a busy day."

"I will try, Reg."

"Good man. Sleep now." Wolfe did not want the officer fainting from exhaustion as they raided the place. He made sure Boxhall went to bed and was sound asleep before he left the house.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: This chapter contains the death of an infant by its sadistic mother. i don't advise anyone to read that part if they are uncomfortable with the subject matter._

Chapter 13. Raid

Pamela came to her senses slowly. During the past 4 days she had been subjected to various tortures and humiliation by Tracy, who took a sadistic delight in watching the young woman suffer. The tortures were too numerous to mention and each one had been designed to break Pamela's spirit, but she would not yield. She had compartmentalized what she was going through in her head, keeping the happy memories to the forefront. When the tortures began, she would mentally isolate herself from the pain and dwell on the good memories to keep herself sane. It was a technique that law enforcement officers and other professionals would use and she found it stood her in good stead.

Tracy's unborn child seemed to be working against her as well. Within the past 2 days she had to stop what she was doing and sit, waiting for the actions of the baby to subside before continuing on with her evil plans.

"For God's sake you stupid kid!" she had yelled once when the unborn assaulted her from within, distorting her belly into weird shapes. "Stop it!" Pamela watched, horrified as Tracy picked up a syringe full of bromide and injected it into her belly, effectively putting her unborn child to sleep. The motions became less noticeable as it surrendered to the drug and became motionless.

"You did that to your own child!" the young woman exclaimed. "How could you!"

"It asked for it!" Tracy threw the syringe across the room. "I told Anthony that I only wanted 2 children and he springs this on me! I never wanted this child and he does!"

Pamela was grateful that so far, Tracy hadn't noticed that she was pregnant, the outward appearance of her lying flat on her back gave off no evidence of her altering shape yet. She would be coming up on the halfway mark for 5 months which was when things shifted and grew outward more. Her unborn child seemed to know enough not to move around when Tracy was present, yet did move around when Pamela was alone. It was like the fetus inside her was putting on a show, distracting the mother from the pain and torment she had been put through that day. She would never tell the baby about the real father, but someday she would mention how it acted when she was troubled, like it loved her even back then.

"Ow, you stupid baby!" Tracy barked out a few minutes later, startling Pamela from her thoughts. "Thought I tranked you!"

"Maybe you're in labor, you idiot!"

"What?!" Tracy felt wet suddenly and she looked down. Her amniotic membrane had ruptured and it was time to deliver the child. Anthony was out with his compatriots, rounding up votes and the like, so she had to do it alone. She hitched up her skirts and sat down on the floor, taking her shoes off. Pamela could see everything that was going on now with her torture table being about 6 feet away from the soon-to-be mother.

"GOD!" she screamed, her legs writhing as a contraction seemed to blaze across her belly. "I'll murder you, I'll cut your daddy's dick off so he'll never do this to me again!"

Pamela rolled her eyes. Big families were common enough and she could plainly see why Tracy wasn't cut out to be a mother at all. The woman was mentally unstable and she needed to spend the rest of her life in a padded room with a cage on her head.

The next half an hour rolled by with a lot of cursing from Tracy as she bore down and pushed the child's head out, and lots more screaming as the infant crowned. Despite herself, Pamela watched as the birth progressed, knowing it was to be a lot like that for her when she finally did go into labor. Tracy yelled the house down and writhed on the floor as time passed by relentlessly.

Finally, when Pamela's ears couldn't take any more of the yelling and swearing, it all stopped. Opening her eyes, she saw Tracy handling the newly born infant carelessly, letting the head flop back and forth. Pamela had always been taught that babies' heads were fragile and to never let the neck snap back as it would cause irreversible damage, and to see Tracy being so careless made Pamela want to fly into her and rip her apart.

"Dead." Tracy pronounced as she flung the baby to the floor. "I knew it!"

"You monster!" Pamela fought the chains, which rattled sharply in the room. "You killed your own child!"

Tracy only smirked as she cleaned herself up and straightened out her skirts. "I never wanted it to begin with!"

"That's no excuse!" tears streamed down her face as Tracy began to go upstairs.

"Here, you take it!" she flung the key for the shackles at Pamela, who managed to catch it. "Care for that thing if you want to! Anthony and I are going away so I hope you're dead when I come back!" the door slammed.

Pamela unlocked her chains and slid onto the floor, sniffling, wiping her eyes. Taking a grimy gray towel, she pulled it over herself and weakly crawled towards the infant.

"Oh!" she cried, seeing it was still breathing. "Maybe you can come home with me? I'll be giving you a brother or sister!" the baby let out a faint mewling sound but would not stir.

"Come on! You can live!" the child was still filthy, the breathing was very shallow, and the heartbeat was getting weak. "Don't you want a brother or sister to play with?" it was foolish of her but she put the infant's hand on her own belly, the bump jutting out as she leaned forward. Right on cue, her fetus kicked, making the little belly jump. "See? My baby wants to be friends!" she was babbling now but she couldn't help it.

A moment later, the infant drew its last breath. Pamela put the body down and cried.

Later that night outside the Baron house, Wolfe and Boxhall saw the couple leave the house, Tracy looking suspiciously slim. "Has she had the baby?" Boxhall whispered. Wolfe frowned in the dim light.

"The light may be playing tricks on our eyes." was all he said. They waited 20 minutes to make sure the cab was gone and nobody could see them. Clad in black, they went around to the back door where Wolfe picked the lock. The sliding glass door opened up and Boxhall exhaled, seeing the house for the first time.

"God!" the place was a filthy mess. Only the living room looked perfect and that was where he suspected the couple did the publicity shots for the campaign. Wolfe wrinkled his nose and sneezed as the dust buildup got to him. They went over to the basement door and opened it up, making sure it was unlocked from the other side.

"Pamela?" Boxhall called, rushing downstairs. He saw a dingy and dusty room with a table complete with iron shackles on each corner. Wolfe drew his gun, looking around every nook and cranny of the room, expecting someone to jump them. When he was satisfied, he holstered his gun and found Pamela lying beside the corpse of an infant.

"So that's what happened," Wolfe felt nauseated but bit it back. "Joe!"

Boxhall ran over, cursed, then leaned down and checked Pamela's pulse. "It's going too fast. She needs a doctor. Pam, can you hear me?" he saw the faint tear streaks on her face and his heart went out to her. The towel slipped and both men saw her naked top half. "They stripped you! Oh my..." he never finished his sentence as he picked her up and brought her upstairs. Wolfe followed, having taken a few pictures of the dead infant and the torture chamber.

An hour later at the local hospital, the doctor strode out of the front doors to see two men carrying a lady and running towards him fast. He quickly got a gurney and they laid the female onto it.

"Her name's Pamela Brackett, she's been captive for almost 5 days..." one of the men told him urgently.

"She should be all right."

"She's 5 months pregnant."

"Really?" there was no outward evidence of it yet, but the doctor knew some women showed sooner than others. "Not to worry, gentlemen, I'll take good care of her."

Another hour passed by and the doctor reported that the mother and child were both in good shape. Wolfe departed to file the official police report while Boxhall went up to see her. Pamela's color had returned and she was sleeping off the pain medicine the doctor had given her for her wounds. Boxhall wiped away tears of thankfulness as he watched her sleep and put a hand on her belly where the child lay. The fetus responded with a push and he smiled.

Pamela roused a bit. "Joe?"

"Shh, go back to sleep."

"Joe, the baby... is it.."

"It's all right." another push. "Do you feel it moving?"

"No." Boxhall put her hand over his on the bump where the fetus obliged them both with a sharp kick. A faint smile appeared on Pamela's lips and she closed her eyes. Boxhall thought she looked beautiful while she slept. Hesitantly, he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14. Recovery

A/N: Sorry about the long wait. I got kicked out of college and have been looking for work, then when I decide to sit down and write, that damned hurricane messes up my plans!

Pamela's hands encircled the small bulge poking out between her hips and through the fabric of the woolen blanket, felt a faint movement. She smiled as Boxhall sat down next to her, handing her a drink. She looked at him almost shyly across the bed as an orderly knocked on the door and entered.

"A Mr. Baron to see you."

"I will not see him!" Pamela had lain in a half awake stupor the night before, wondering what the repercussions of her misadventure would be, and almost certain that Baron would attempt to contact or see her. The thoughts on her mind had made it a very sleepless night, despite Boxhall's presence.

"I don't believe you have a choice." Baron pushed past the orderly into the room and gave a smart-alec grin at the two people. "Leave us alone." the orderly stepped out reluctantly.

"I warn you sir, if you hurt my fiancee in any way, I will not hesitate to have you arrested." Boxhall said in a menacing voice. Baron actually shrank back a little and Pamela looked at him, wondering where he'd found the iron in his voice. She took her hands off her bulge the second the door had opened and pulled up her blankets, eager to hide the roundness from view of the media-hungry mogul.

Baron chose to ignore Boxhall for the moment as he stood over Pamela. "Is it true what they're saying?"

"Is what true?" her confused expression was genuine, even Baron could see it.

"That you and I have a love child on the way?" Boxhall's jaw dropped open and was glad that Baron hadn't seen it. Pamela masked her surprise very well.

"Where would you hear something like that?"

"It's all over the news, Pammie! One of the orderlies here was talking about you and how you were pregnant and I wanted to find out if this was just a rumor or were you really expecting?"

"Well, I wasn't ready to put the word out yet, but..." Boxhall's jaw almost fell open again as Baron grinned in anticipation. "It'll be obvious very soon anyway, I mean I can't hide my figure much longer."

"I knew it!" Baron clapped his hands together. "You will deliver the baby and I will take it and raise it in my own image! That double-crossing wife of mine had no clue on how to handle children and we'd always fight about it!" he moved to put his hands on her belly but she edged away from him.

"Yes I am expecting, but it isn't yours," Pamela smirked at Baron's surprise. "Mr. Boxhall here and I are in love, we're engaged, and we're having a child together." the unborn child thumped its mother from the inside as if it was agreeing with her statement. Boxhall crossed to the front and put his hands on Pamela's shoulder, the other one drifting to her midsection. He pressed down a little to feel any movment and made the indentation of the belly underneath the blankets look deeper, thereby making her belly look bigger than it usually was.

Baron's jaw hung open now as the orderly stepped in. "Sir, your 5 minutes are up."

"You have no place around my betrothed or my unborn child," Boxhall spoke firmly. "you will be arrested if you come near them again. Once the elections are over soon, I do not expect to see you or even hear of your name and my wife's in the same sentence ever."

Pamela put her arm around Boxhall's broad shoulders and cozied up to him snugly, smiling when his arm went to her back and he hugged her to him, the hand still on her belly. Baron couldn't say anything to them that would mar their happiness, so he left abruptly.

"Oh, Joe," Pamela kissed him on the cheek. "I can't be grateful enough for all that you have done for us."

"Us?" he looked at her bump. "Right. Still got to get used to that."

She giggled. "I've been pregnant ever since you met me and you can't think of the unborn one yet?"

"Well, I knew of it as something that was coming in the future.." he flushed a little bit. "Since it's not here yet, I have a little difficulty thinking of it in the here and now present tense."

"Same here actually. Well at first," she admitted, covering his hand with hers as another whack from within was felt by them. "then I started to get bigger and the little one started to abuse me from the inside."

"It wants its presence known," Boxhall chuckled. "do you want a boy or a girl?"

"Either." Pamela closed her eyes.

In the time Pamela had been away, she had indeed grown bigger in the midsection and could not hide it anymore. The expectant mother was now 6 months gone and as she got up from the hospital bed, Boxhall watched as the once small bulge had grown to football-sized proportions. He had gotten for her a nice loose dress of her favorite blue color and watched her now as she slipped into it. He zipped her up the back and admired her when she turned to him. The dress fit her perfectly, hanging over the bigger bulge in her belly.

"Come on now," he put a coat over her. "it's getting cold out there now."

"I forget it, it is late September now, isn't it?" she buttoned up her greatcoat and looked annoyed when the mountain of flesh peeked through as it jutted upwards.

"It's actually early October." he took her hand and they left the hospital. "The elections will be over soon and that idiot Baron won't have anything more to do with us."

"Well, they say pregnancy lasts 9 months so if I was pregnant in April and it's now October..."

"You just turned 6 months a few days ago." Boxhall reminded her as they strolled along the sidewalk.

"Huh. Well even so, I might deliver around Christmastime to be sure." she teased him.

"Ugh. Let's not go that far just yet." Boxhall teased back. "I've seen some gory sights at sea, but I think childbirth would put me over the top."

"And you call yourself a man!" arriving at home, Boxhall unlocked the door and let them in. There was a note from Wolfe, offering them his good wishes for the future and he would call in on them later when things settled down some at the police station. There was evidence to process now and he would be busy for a week or two. He had tied a small bouquet of flowers to the note with a tag that read BABY BOXHALL. Pamela laughed and put the flowers in water as Boxhall went into the bedroom and tidied up.

Over the next month, Pamela reintroduced herself to the outside world slowly. She would amble down the streetcorner to the post office once every 2 days, then she would go to the market stalls once a week about a block away from their house. Edgy and nervous, she jumped at shadows and would not go outside at night alone. Pamela entrusted the burlesque house to Valerie, who kept it in good shape and they turned a daily revenue.

Election night came and Boxhall invited her to the town square to see who had been elected. She was very sure that Baron had his reputation damaged by associating with her and her business, and she wanted to laugh at his humiliation, so she agreed to go.

"I'm 7 months now, so we just hear the verdict and go. I can't stand up for too long anymore." Pamela reminded Boxhall. He nodded in agreement and helped her into her cape. Her greatcoat wouldn't button up around her big bulge anymore and Valerie had given her a long royal blue made out of Merino sheep's wool as a thanks for promoting her. Boxhall draped the cape over her shoulders and helped her fasten it with the brass maple leaf clasp in front at her throat. The cape draped over her belly, though it did not mask it. Pamela didn't care anymore, she was just happy that her unborn child got warmth as well.

At the square, the verdicts were announced, and the one position Baron was vying for had been won by a gentleman named Aubery Pike.

Boxhall and Pamela yelled their congratulations jubilantly as the burly Pike came up to the stage and thanked the voters. Baron sulked inwardly and turned away, stomping down the stage steps and walking away to his waiting car. Tracy Baron hadn't been seen for a long time now and hardly a thought had been spared about her. Rumor had it that she divorced Baron while they were in France and took up with a winemaker in Burgundy.

In the midst of their revelry, Pamela turned to Boxhall and kissed him full on the lips. He looked shocked at first, then closed his eyes as she did, both of them enjoying the moment.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15. The Wedding

The courtship of the two was brief. They already knew each other very well and all it had taken was Pamela breaking the ice at the election day festivities to cross the last barrier between them. Within a week, the two were flirting with each other and being raunchy. She moved into his bedroom and they spent many nights together being intimate and whatnot, as Boxhall taught her new ways to make her truly feel love and pleasure on whole new levels.

One day in mid December, Boxhall came home to find Pamela sitting at the table, enjoying tea while she checked out magazines full of wedding ideas.

"Are you planning for something?" he teased as he undid his jacket fastenings and hung it up. She looked over and scolded him with a smile.

"What do you think?" her ringed hand on her belly, she got up and went over to him with a kiss in greeting.

"Anything wrong?"

"No, I just haven't felt any movement for a bit."

"Well, you'll deliver someday soon, hopefully not before the wedding!" Boxhall kissed her deeply, feeling her big gut lightly touch his during the moment. A sharp jab startled them both and they started giggling.

On the wedding day, Valerie arrived early to help Pamela with her makeup. Pamela had attired herself in a white dress that was nonconforming and airy, sequins glittered in it randomly, and there was embroidery of flowers on the deep lace collar. The dress reached all the way to the floor and had a little train behind it.

"OK, Picasso, make me up." Pamela turned as Valerie giggled and pulled out her tools.

When Boxhall saw Pamela coming down the aisle towards him, he was amazed. The white dress looked great on her, the watermelon sized belly where their future child resided looked wonderful to his eyes. Long ago he'd mentally adopted the unborn one as his own, knowing who had really fathered it and who was ready to become a real father.

Baron had disappeared from public view and nobody knew where he had gone. Nobody really cared, as more were inclined to cast a charitable light on Pamela, the victim of his slander scheme to get votes. Since he'd lost the election, he'd kept a low profile for a few weeks, then it appeared that he'd decided to leave town altogether.

Wolfe smiled at Pamela as she passed him by. He'd been the one to tell Boxhall and Pamela some news that had been hushed up behind closed doors about Baron. It seemed he'd gotten drunk, stumbled off in the middle of the night, fell off a low bridge across a river and drowned. According to an unknown source, Baron was sure he'd had a love child with Pamela and was apparently devastated when she told him otherwise. Baron had been drinking himself into a stupor since the election and his drunken ravings were not to be paid attention to.

Pamela reached Boxhall now and gave her hand to him. They had opted for a simple service and neither wanted any ostentatious weddings or even a reception. Pamela couldn't stand up for very long now, so they had a quick service with Wolfe and Valerie as the witnesses, and they went home. Boxhall had the weekend off from work and he would attend to Pamela at every moment he could, making her feel like a princess.

The next day, Pamela was sitting up in bed after a very passionate night full of erotica, Boxhall brought her some tea while he sat on the bed next to her, giving her shoulders a rubbing.

"If this is married life, I'm so happy, you can't imagine." she put the teacup aside. "All I have to do now is give birth and I will feel fulfilled as a mother and wife."

"You mean you won't bear me-us any more children after this one?"

"Give it some time. My sole function isn't a reproducing machine you know." he laughed and necked her.

At Christmas, their gifts were all for the baby. A crib and stroller were given to them from Wolfe and Valerie, several other friends had given them clothing, toys, etc. Pamela had given Boxhall-now Joe a framed photo of one of the White Star Line ships to hang in the nursery. Joe had given her a pair of diamond trinity earrings. She put them on immediately and beamed at her husband, kissing him deeply. They went out to a restaurant that night instead of cooking, which was a special treat for Pamela. She didn't like cooking much and since she could not stand for long periods of time any more, they went out.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16. A What?

_A/N: Now we go into the strange world a bit. I read about this phenomenon and have wanted to use it in my stories for some time now._

It was January 1st, 1913. Joe looked up as Pamela came in looking a bit angry. He joined her on the couch and asked her what was going on.

"I just came from the doctor's, Joe. I haven't felt any movement for almost a week and I hope that the baby will be arriving soon. I was concerned, so I got examined and the doctor pretty much said that I should leave it to nature to decide when the baby will be born."

"Do you think that makes any sense?" he prodded gently.

Pamela pulled off her cape and hung it up, leaving her belly bare in all its glory. "I don't have a lap anymore, Joe, and I would like this baby to come out so I can finally be a mother."

She sat down next to him again and Joe pushed her shirt up so he could see it more clearly. "It will be born when it wants to be."

"I know, but I can't help thinking that something's wrong with it." she sighed. "I have this weight that can be removed but it doesn't want to come out yet."

Joe laughed. "Come on darling, just let nature take its course, all right?"

"I can't say no to you." she kissed him.

At the end of January with still no sign of labor, Pamela knew that something was very wrong and she took Joe with her to the doctor, needing him to back her up if necessary.

"I'm 4 weeks or so overdue," she explained to the young male doctor. "that's not right."

"I see. Up on the exam table, please." Joe helped her and they moved back her shirt to expose the great belly. "I'm just going to palpate the child." the doctor explained as he warmed up his hands. Joe watched as Pamela felt the hands on her belly, exploring her unborn child gently. His face darkened a bit and he gave a sharp rap to the baby inside.

"Don't! You'll hurt my baby!"

"Here now!" Joe protested. "What is the meaning of that? Are you trying to kill my child?"

The doctor faced them. "I've delivered many children, Mr. and Mrs. Boxhall. I know how fragile they are. What we are dealing with is not a child, at least not any more."

"What?" Joe pulled Pamela up so she could sit up.

"Listen," he rapped again on Pamela's swollen belly, producing a loud tapping sound, like he'd knocked on a concrete wall. "that's not normal at all."

"I didn't ingest a rock," she looked bemused. "What is it?"

"It's a very rare phenomenon called stone baby or lithopedion." the doctor explained. "Your baby is dead and your body calcified it so it wouldn't harm you."

"How could this happen?" Joe took his wife's hand reassuringly.

"From what modern science has taught us, your egg was fertilized in your fallopian tube near the little hairlike structures called fimbrae. Their job is to move the egg down into the uterus where it implants and normal pregnancy takes place. For some reason, your fimbrae ruptured on one side and the egg implanted in your abdomen instead."

"So I wasn't pregnant all this time?"

"No, you were," the doctor interrupted her. "your body knew and tried to maintain it outside your womb. Unfortunately it died, probably around the mid 3rd trimester and your body calcified it. From that time on it hasn't moved and your body hasn't initiated labor because your body thinks it isn't pregnant."

"So do I carry this stone inside me for the rest of my life?" Pamela took her hands off of her belly and covered it back up with her shirt.

"No. I can perform surgery and take it out of you. There would be no harm in carrying it, you could even be pregnant with others and still carry it, but it is not advisable."

"Then I want it removed. Joe?"

"Yes." he agreed. "When can you do it?"

"In 3 days," the doctor smiled. "you will have to endure the discomfort for that long."

"I can handle it." Pamela got down with some assistance from Joe, they thanked the doctor and left.

On the day of the surgery, Pamela put on her cape and said to her belly, "You'll be a lot flatter when I get home, I promise you." Joe chuckled as he picked up a book to read while he was waiting. They walked to the hospital where Pamela was promptly admitted and she was instructed to lie down on a gurney and wait until the orderly came in to get her.

She had to change into a gown that opened in the back, then she lay back and waited. Joe talked to her as she imagined being able to see past the big mountain of flesh in front of her that would be gone soon. Husband and wife talked to each other until the orderly came, took her into the operating room, and she was promptly sedated.

The surgeon lifted up the lithopedion in both hands. "This one's heavy!" he cut off the stump where the shriveled umbilical cord had been fastened to and the nurse weighed the stone baby.

"This is a 9 pounder." she calmly told others, who put the stone in a container. The surgeon cleaned out the peritoneal cavity and stitched up the muscle layers then the skin. He bandaged the site tightly and Pamela was sent to the recovery room.

When Pamela woke up, nauseated by the drugs they had given her, she found Joe by her side and he told her that they had removed a 9 pound stone baby from inside her, and did they want it to bury? He took her hand as she nodded yes dumbly, her mouth dry. Joe told her also that it was a little girl. Pamela blinked and tears came out of her eyes. Joe wanted to hold her while she cried, but he didn't think that she was strong enough yet for that. He settled instead for putting his head next to hers and kissing her on the cheek.

One day after 3 weeks of recovering from her abdominal surgery, the couple went off to the churchyard to bury their girl. Together they bought a coffin out of maple wood and a small stone, had a stonemason engrave the name on it: BABY GIRL BOXHALL, BORN AND DIED JANUARY 28 1913. Pamela blinked back the tears and leaned into Joe, who did the same. They left the churchyard and went back home.

Once there, Joe lost his reserve and cried openly. Pamela went into comfort mode and held him for a long time where they sat on the couch. For the next few weeks they grieved, but gradually the pain began to lessen some. It would never fully go away completely, but they managed the best they could.

EPILOGUE

Three years after they buried their daughter, Joe came home in a bad mood. He had just disembarked the _Runic_ and the war was just starting up for them. He was to take command of a ship just as he was about to be promoted in the merchant marine. He couldn't say no to the navy, just that he was frustrated his merchant marine career would be on hold for who knew how long.

A month ago, Pamela had been sick and though she'd written to him in a cheerful tone, he knew she was worried. When she came in that night, she greeted him with a big kiss hello and a smile that was blindingly bright.

"Well, what's got you so happy now?"

"Oh Joe, I'm having your baby."

"Really?!" he picked her up completely. "Should we be really happy you know, after last time?"

"Yes. That was a one in a million occurrence. The doctor said it was rare to happen. I guarantee you it won't happen again."

"Oh this is wonderful!" he kissed her deeply, one hand snaking to her belly.

Nine months later, Joe opened up a letter on board his ship, which was retrofitting in New York.

_"Dear Joe,_

_"I am very well now and am writing to inform you of the birth of your son, Edward. He arrived on June 15. He's happy and healthy and has your keen blue eyes. He's also got your temperament-he's very quiet but if you hold something back from him he wants, he gets that look in his eye that you do! Our baby is in very good health, he sleeps like a log at night, and he's one hungry wee one!_

_"He weighed about 8 pounds at birth and he's growing rapidly already. Edward is the light of our lives now and sometime in the future I hope to give him a sibling or 2! I am fine, don't worry about me._

_"Honestly, I lost quite a lot of blood during the delivery, a bit of hemorrhaging, but the midwife cleared that right up. I was dizzy and a bit sick for a few days which is why it took me until now to write this letter to you. I won't lie, the labor took a lot out of me and I'm confined to bedrest until sometime next week._

_"I notified the navy and you should be getting a notice of your leave to come and meet Edward very soon. Enclosed is a miniature of your new son. I love you._

_"Pammie."_

Joe looked at the picture and felt his eyes well up. Edward did have his eyes. He put the picture in his pocket, ready to go and brag to his officers.

THE END


End file.
